{Author's note: In a first for HolyJuan.com, I'd like to present, guest writer, Chris.}

In early June, Joe vacationed for a week near Clearwater Florida, which is 45 minutes from where Karen and I live. We scheduled an evening for him to stop by our place for dinner while he was here. A few days before his vacation I received a call from Joe “warning” me that he was traveling with a “female friend” and they were purely friends and he did not want to hear any crap from me or Karen.

I agreed and followed my commitment to Joe during his visit. But now his vacation is over. The following are the top observations of Joe and Suzanne that prove they are more than just friends.

11) Joe pulled me aside and asked to borrow my mix tape; “that really good one from college with ‘Lady in Red’ and ‘Tender Love’”, he said.

10) When I asked Joe if he listened to Fugazi anymore, he had this incredulous look and then stated, “Fugazi?”, as if it was so absurd to suggest he ever listened to them.

9) He and Suzanne kept talking about how the Broadway version of “Mama Mia” was so much better than the movie version.

8) When I saw him drinking Corona, I expressed surprise at that, and he said “You know, I always drank Corona in high school and college.”

7) He kept doing ring-around-the-rosie with my kids, and always was looking at Suzanne out of the corners of his eye to see if she was watching. My kids finally pushed him aside and ran to get away.

6) He and Suzanne began to show my kids how to do “patty cake” with their hands. 5 minutes later, my kids walked away as Joe and Suzanne kept doing patty caking without giving my kids 1 second of their attention.

5) When we started talking about how great “Seinfeld” was, he kept telling us how Elaine was his favorite character.

4) When I asked if his mom did anything dumb lately, he said sternly to me, “No! I love my mother.”

3) When we all went for a walk by the woods by my house, he and Suzanne kept stopping simultaneously to do the Macarena for 10 seconds, and then laughed out loud for 10 more seconds after do it. It wasn’t cute or funny the first time.

2) Joe and Suzanne had a 15 minute conversation regarding how they love oyster crackers in their soup.

1) He kept asking us if we wanted to play board games.

{If you would like to guest write for HolyJuan.com.... forget it.}

{Author's Note: After cutting and pasting this, I went to iTunes and downloaded Chris de Burgh's ‘Lady in Red’ and Force MD's ‘Tender Love’. Really.}

I was cleaning off my desktop when I ran across this. Some redhead blogger ran a contest to make up a 300 words or less story about how she broke her ankle. The winner would get a blahblahblah gig iTouch. I entered. I didn't even make it into the top seven that she picked to be voted on. Here is my story:

Redhead knew that handing over her car keys was a mistake, but the guy in the bar with the crappy goatee wouldn’t shut up and he said it was a magic trick that she would never forget. She dug the keyring out of her black purse; the streamlined sexy one that barely held her keys, cash and lipstick.

He stood up on his stool, held the keys up, said, “Ladies and Ladies!” and in a drunken lurch, spun around and bent over. He mostly stood, half bent over for an uncomfortable minute and then stood and spun with a “Ta-Da!”

The keys dangled from his nobody’s business that, half heartedly, poked out from his open zipper. Not just dangled… that son of a bitch had the keyring shoved down his dick.

“Take it off!”

“Come get it!” he shook his feeble groin at her.

In one very coordinated move, Redhead swung her purse forward, up and cockward. Her aim was true. Goatee fell backwards, clutching his keyrung goods, and landed on the bar floor.

“Give them to me!”

“Here…” he croaked.

“Give them.”

“They are stuck! Oh my God… It’s swelling up!”

Everything was… an awful blue.

An hour later, against doctor’s orders, Redhead stood by goatee dude, insisting that she would not leave that scumbag’s side without her keys. Lubricants had failed to release the keys and in the end, pliers were called for and sterilized.

The doctor leveraged and applied force. He snipped. Simultaneously, Goatee let out a desperate howl and a gob of man goo shot out from his pent up loins.

Redhead reached forward and grabbed the lubed up keys with a pre-gloved hand.

“Fuck you.”

She turned to walk out and promptly slipped in his load on the floor, breaking her ankle in three places.

Yeah, it sucks. But it beats out the other drivel. I'd give you her website to compare, but I don't want to give her any traffic. Yeah, I'm a sore loser. Fuck you.

What shall i take in my suitcase? I have been thinking about this for a while and was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the subject.

Please help.

Thanks.

Warmest Regards,

Larry

Dear Larry,

Who uses a suitcase these days? Are you 100 years old? Is it a steamer or a trunk?

I suggest you throw that suitcase out and use a trash bag. Trash bags are better than suitcases for several reasons.

1. Price = free They already have trash bags at the airport in the bottoms of the trash cans. This allows you to pack at the airport while waiting for your flight instead of doing it at home. I suggest a double bagging so that people will think that you have money to blow on trash bags.

2. FlexibilityWhen asked if your bag fits into the bag size detector at the airport, you can cram your trashbag into the device, with clothes and toiletries oozing into ever crack and crevice, ensuring that your beanbag sized bag will make it as carry-on.

3. SpeedWhen you have a trashbag thrown over your shoulder, the TSA attendants at security assumes you work at the airport and will let you right through to the front of the line. When the metal detector goes off, just say, “Dustpan.”

4. Odor ProtectionStinky clothes or cheese from the Duty Free shop? Buy odor protection bags for your trip back. I suggest the twitsty-tie so that you can get into and out of your bag multiple times when you need a snack or to smell again if your clothes really stink. Man, I love my own stink.

5. SecurityIf you leave your bag on the floor, no one will pick it up. No one will report it as a bomb. No one will look inside to steal your shit. Even the cleaning people won't touch it because the union forbids them from EVER touching anything outside the trash bins. The only people you need to concern yourself with are the people, like me, who are looking to throw their stuff in a trash bag. When I see you at the airport, I’ll give you a thumbs-up.

So, Larry, toss that suitcase. When you look at a trash bag from now on, I want you to say, “This is My Suitcase.”

I have a sum of money in this bag. First one to guess how much is in the bag gets the money.

To answer, you need to leave a comment with the guess and an e-mail address/twitter. You can also comment with a username if it is associated with an e-mail address. Any guess not associated with an e-mail address will be deleted.

One guess per person, please.

And no tricks! No mathematics or less than signs or formulas. Just the amount you think in US Dollars.

I’m not sure what the tax laws in your state are, but I am going to sneak around them when I send this to you by mail. Oh yeah, Haskckuhi, US residents only.

And yes, you are probably going to have to trust me about how much money is in the bag. It's written on the back side.

Russ and I have been friends since kindergarten. We rode the bus to school together for 12 years until he bought a car, which reminds me that I still owe him gas money. As kids, we would spend the night at each other’s houses or get dropped off by the bus after school to spend the afternoon together.

The most magical thing about Russ’ house was that his dad had a collection of Playboy magazines. Stacks of them. All kept in a very large bottom drawer of a huge filing cabinet. The drawer would have been big enough to hold the both of us if it wasn’t half full of magazines. If no one was at home, Russ and I would sneak a peek or two at the magazines and quickly hide them away when we heard a car coming up his, just long enough, gravel driveway. Russ was very careful about keeping his father’s secret a secret, so he didn’t like to take chances and we only took calculated looks in the drawer. I liked to take chances and it was a constant battle to keep me out of the garage.

One day after school, I went over to Russ’ house. We were supposed to do our homework, but we were keeping busy with video games. Russ’ mom came in and said that she was running off for a minute and that we should stay out of trouble as father would be home any minute. As soon as she left, I suggested we hit the drawer. Russ balked with the looming arrival of his father. I gave in.

Then I suggested we play hide and go seek.

I think I counted first to throw him off my plan. After finding him, he began to count and I ran off to the garage. I grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the huge drawer of goodness. I crawled in the drawer and with a bit of wiggling, pulled it shut.

Russ couldn’t find me for that twenty minutes of dimly lit heaven.

It was pretty hot in that drawer and I decided I should get out. Quick as can be I forced it open and shut it without a look back. I put the flashlight up and went inside to find Russ. I did not give up my hiding space. An hour later, mom came and picked me up. I couldn’t wait for my next visit.

That night, mom asked me if I had any homework. I remembered the worksheet in my back pocket that I was supposed to have completed at Russ’ house. I went to pull it out and it was gone. I thought I had left it at school. The next day at school the sheet wasn’t there and I got in trouble for not doing my homework.

I quickly forgot about the homework and was only reminded of it when Russ called me to say that the homework had been found by his father in the stash of Playboys. It had fallen out of my back pocket when I was squirming into/out of the drawer. My name was at the top of it. Russ’ dad yelled at Russ. Then in an odd turn of events, Russ’ mom yelled at Russ’ dad because she thought he had thrown all of those magazines out years ago.

Russ shared with me a very sad vision. One of his father out in the garage at night, working under a lamp, throwing out all the magazines from the drawer, stopping every so often to lovingly flip through one of them and then toss it in the bin with the rest.

Russ got in trouble. I got in trouble. Russ’ dad got in trouble. And the whole collection of playboys was thrown out.

But it was worth it. I can’t think of a more vivid memory from my youth. My neck bent up with my chin in my chest. Knees against the top of the drawer above me. Magazines an uneven surface beneath me. The sound of Russ’ feet shuffling through the garage as he hopelessly tried to find me. The very slight smell of paper mold and glue. The heat. And the weak yellow of the flashlight on the pink of the flesh. It’s all still there.

She and I went to school together for a couple years in Lancaster. She was a goofball and I was a doofus. She was a ball of fire that would someday turn into a wild, yet dedicated mom and I was a dweeb seed that would someday sprout into a jerkwad dad. She moved away and once the internet was invented, I would sometimes Google "girl gets head stuck in chair" hoping to find her.

A mutual friend brought us together and last week we had lunch over at the Surly Girl.

Let me tell you that I am in love with AmyD! Not in the get divorced kind of way. But rather that I really respect this girl because she is open, honest and true. She speaks her mind and she normally has to do so with her foot in her mouth. She's not perfect, but she is a perfectionist. She is cute as much as she is still goofy. Still that 7th grader at heart, right before you didn't have to worry about what people thought of you.

I am trying to convince her to illustrate a book I haven't written yet.

While belated, I wanted to send you a heartfelt thank you note for allowing me the experience of reading your blog. Your documentation of the work along 315 nearly brings me to tears and YOU Holy Juan were the one who broke the story on the sale of President Fords leg. Additionally, I dont mind telling you I would be a lesser person had you not brought the plight of the sugar packet to my attention. I will never use artificial sweetener again!

Holy Juan, you are an American treasure and your name will ring out forever with the likes of John Clancy, Walt Whitman and Perez Hilton. Reading your blog allows me to experience one of the all time greats, it feels just like my first trip to Neverland Ranch each time I log on.

Thank you Holy Juan, thank you for your greatness and sharing it with the world!

Very Respectfully,

Bitter White Republican Guy

p.s. Note that this thank you message is in email form, one of the approved thank you note formats and NOT a DM on Twitter which would violate your instructions.

I’m sure Aunt Lara laughed, nay, cackled to herself when she stuck the copy of “Splish Splash- A Book of Five Jigsaws” in amongst the other children's books she was giving to Sally and me. She probably pulled it out from the bottom of a well where she threw it years earlier after it was passed on to her by some other parent driven insane by its madness.

It’s a pretty book. And there are jigsaws on the inside! Five of them. It’s like buying one jigsaw and getting four extras with a book thrown in for good measure. This book is pure evil. Innocent at first, but over time it begins to gnaw at your soul.

First off, once your kid figures out that there is more than one puzzle, they will take out the pieces to multiple puzzles and mix them up. This requires you to sort out the puzzle pieces by color and, well heck, even though the illustrator had at least 1.45 million colors to choose from, they chose to make two of the puzzles blue and two orange, so you have to carefully pick through and guess which puzzle they go to.

Once the pieces are separated, it’s time to build the puzzle. I’m sure your little genius has a photographic memory, but my kids are not that smart and require the puzzle box top to remember what the sleeping lion looked like. This devil’s tome decided to put the photos of the puzzles on the back of the book and for some reason my kids decided that they have to turn the book upside down to see the back which dumps all the pieces back on the floor.

Once we did figure out to just close the book to see the back, there seems to be a bit of a problem with the 16 puzzle pieces in that many of them fit quite nicely together, even though they are not supposed to. For an adult, this isn’t a problem. But it’s as complicated all get out to a kid.

Here is the biggest pain in the ass. Normal puzzles come in a box. You take the pieces out, build the puzzle and then throw them back in the box when it is time to clean up. These book puzzles come already put together, you take them apart, and then build them again to put them away. This is all well in good in a perfect world, but in my world, guests are coming over and we need to clean up the living room. If this book is out, it means that the pieces are all over the place. With a normal puzzle, we’d tear apart the 20% of the puzzle the kid built before he got bored and throw it in the box with the other pieces. With this book, the pieces don’t have a place to hide. The pieces cannot be crammed in between the pages and tucked away. You have to build the puzzles to put the book away. Well, first you have to sort the five different colors, then build them and you are completely screwed if you drop the thing on the ground and watch as five puzzles slide out and intermingle on the floor.

After spending ten minutes working together to sort and build, Sally and I decided to throw the book out. Then at the last second I stopped from pitching it in the bin and said, “Let’s save this and give it to your cousin once she has kids.”

I hope this letter finds you well and that you are having a good summer. Have you run any office chairs through parking lots and into walls recently?

All joking aside, I was very disappointed that you didn't drop us a thank you note for your time spent at XXXXXXXX. It is possible that it got lost in the mail. It might have even been filtered out by our SPAM software. If you did send one and we did not get it, I am sorry as I was very interested to see what kind of creative letter you would put together. We thought that, though disjointed and sometimes uncoordinated, we provided you with an great learning experience and that you would have shared your appreciation with us by discussing the migration pattern of the Albanian tuskless walrus.

But if you did not take the time to thank us for the opportunity, allow me to be the one person whom you think of every time you should write a thank you note. There are three types of thank you notes: the kind you send your aunt when she gives you a sweater, the kind where you write about an experience and thank the people involved for their time and then there is the thank you note that you do not send.

The second one discussing your experience would have been great.We even would have settled for the Aunt Sweater one.But instead we got the third one. And sadly, the third one is the most memorable.

Next time, drop a note or an e-mail to the people who take time out of their lives to try and help you out. Whether it's a job interview or a gift. Even if it is a teacher or a coach. A thank you note says a lot about the person who is being thanked, but it also says something about the person sending it.

If you did send one, I am truly sorry you had to read this and I am sad that I didn't get to see it.

And if you didn't... obviously I am very disappointed. Don't let it happen again.

Dear Holyjuan,Throughout the entire course of our relationship together, my girlfriend has been misusing a particular word. At first it was kind of cute and no one seemed to notice, so I let it go. But, recently she has increased her use of the word and its starting to drive me crazy. I want to know how to get the most out of this small, but oh so important shift in the balance of power. Do I spring it on her right before dinner with her parents? Or maybe in front of other people so they think I am more intelligent? This delicate situation where the man is right and the woman is wrong, so rarely happens, I thought you would be the person to best advise me and men everywhere on how to finally "take her down a peg".

Sincerely,Whipped and Wordy

Dear W & W,

The word is “taint” isn’t it? Every f’ing chick out there uses the word “taint” and they throw it around like they are “taint” experts or taintsperts. The word is CHODE folks. The chode is the area of the male body between the balls and the butthole. I’m not sure why people use the word taint except for the catchy phrase, “’Taint your balls and ‘taint your butt.”

Nevertheless, you are looking for a solution and I have one that I picked up from The Dog Whisperer: a choke collar. The next time you have dinner with her folks, present her with this gift. Call is a stainless steel necklace that represents your love for her. Make sure you mention that you paid extra for the attached leather strapette. Insist she put it on immediately and make sure you have a firm grip on the strap. With a flair, change the topic of conversation from Al Gore to parts of the body that rhyme with “faint.” As soon as she says “taint”, give the leash a jerk and say, “NO!” in a very commanding voice.

It is very important at this time that you do not correct her by saying “chode.” Just correct the bad behavior. She needs to correct herself. In this way, she will see you as the one guiding her and not forcing her.

In about six weeks, you will be able to remove the leash and just leave the collar on her. In this time, she will find herself not using the word “taint” and slowly beginning to freely say, “Chode.” I do not expect relapse, but if she does, reattach the leash and keep a rolled up newspaper around to give her some reinforcement on the nose.

You. Are. Welcome.

HJ

BONUS!
For the easily offended, I rewrote this entry so that the sexes of the two people were switched to cover up for my sexism.

Dear Holyjuan,Throughout the entire course of our relationship together, my boyfriend has been misusing a particular word. At first it was kind of cute and no one seemed to notice, so I let it go. But, recently he has increased his use of the word and its starting to drive me crazy. I want to know how to get the most out of this small, but oh so important shift in the balance of power. Do I spring it on him right before dinner with his parents? Or maybe in front of other people so they think I am more intelligent? This delicate situation where the woman is right and the man is wrong, so rarely happens, I thought you would be the person to best advise me and women everywhere on how to finally "take him down a peg".

Sincerely,Whipped and Wordy

Dear W & W,

The word is “taint” isn’t it? Every f’ing dude out there uses the word “taint” and they throw it around like they are “taint” experts or taintsperts. The word is CHODE folks. The chode is the area of the male body between the balls and the butthole. I’m not sure why people use the word taint except for the catchy phrase, “’Taint your balls and ‘taint your butt.”

Nevertheless, you are looking for a solution and I have one that I picked up from The Dog Whisperer: a choke collar. The next time you have dinner with his folks, present him with this gift. Call is a stainless steel necklace that represents your love for him. Make sure you mention that you paid extra for the attached leather strapette. Insist he put it on immediately and make sure you have a firm grip on the strap. With a flair, change the topic of conversation from Al Gore to parts of the body that rhyme with “faint.” As soon as he says “taint”, give the leash a jerk and say, “NO!” in a very commanding voice.

It is very important at this time that you do not correct him by saying “chode.” Just correct the bad behavior. He needs to correct himself. In this way, he will see you as the one guiding him and not forcing him.

In about six weeks, you will be able to remove the leash and just leave the collar on him. In this time, he will find himself not using the word “taint” and slowly beginning to freely say, “Chode.” I do not expect relapse, but if he does, reattach the leash and keep a rolled up newspaper around to give him some reinforcement on the nose.

For many men, it is nearly impossible to tell when a woman wants to have sex with them. It is in a man's best interest to know the signs of when a woman wants to have sex, so that they don’t look foolish getting shut down and/or getting tasered.

So here is how you can tell when a woman wants to have sex with you:

She says, “I want to have sex with you.”This is the surest and easiest way to find out. It also usually means that if she’s giving in this easy, it is because no one else will have sex with her or she wants to make babies. Before you engage in the act of love with Lazy Eye Susan or Tranny Janice, put on a condom and check to make she is not sleepwalking.

She says, “I don’t think I should have sex with you.”Do not confuse this with, “No.” No means no and you should back off. “I don’t think I should have sex with you,” however, is a very tricky phrase because of the "don't think". The woman is saying this because she knows she probably shouldn’t have sex with you and is trying to talk herself out of it. What you should do is follow up with, “You are right… we should not have sex.” Be cool. As the night progresses and you play your cards right, she might change her mind. Or she may mace you.

She asks who you voted for This question is very tricky and only has one right answer. If you say Obama, she’ll think you are patronizing her and going for the easy lay. If you say McCain, she’ll think you are pathetic and go into how Palin was demonized by the media. You should say, Ron Paul, because chicks dig guys who live dangerously or that are crazy and voting for Paul puts you in both categories.

She reveals her shaved status to youIf a woman, during normal conversation, mentions that she has a landing strip, a patch, an arrow, a Mr. Miagi banzai tree, a heart or a scorned falafel… it means that she wants you to be comfortable with it and to know what to look for on your journey to happy land. If she hands you a tick comb and a machete before you head down south, bail.

She sticks her tongue out at youI’m not sure why women do this, but be assured that if a woman sticks her tongue out at you in a playful manner, you, my friend, are in luck. I’m not sure if it is the playfulness or the act of revealing a moist body part, but either way, you should make your move. Note, sometimes little girls stick their tongues out at people… The rule does not apply in these situations, idiot.

She invites you to her placeIf a woman has class and self-dignity, she’ll couch the invite under the auspices of seeing the fabulous view from her bedroom, her new cute-as-a-button puppy or to drink some trendy, exotic tea. If she’s a dirty-girl-sure-thing or just doesn’t care about her reputation in the community, she’ll simply ask you to come home with her to test all the prime numbers on her Sleep Number Bed. Be extremely wary of any woman who asks you home to see her stamp collection or vast collection of power tools. Be extremely cautious of any chick who requests you to help with some light digging or to exfoliate her “ridged monkey” – you might end up being made into furniture.

She asks you to walk her to her carYou have to treat this one carefully. Sometimes, after a date or a night out with friends, a woman is just looking for someone to walk her to her car. But sometimes she is looking to cull you from the herd, to get you alone, so that she can then ask you back to her place. In rare "walk me to my car" instances, you can get a damsel in distress fuck if, by chance, her car battery is dead and you can give her a jump. You can exponentially increase your chances of success by getting to her car beforehand and disconnecting her battery. When you save the day with your jumper cables and freaky mechanical intuition, she will feel obligated to invite you to her place for a cup of coffee to thank you. After that, it’s up to you, sport.

Sure-FireIf you’re not having any luck getting a girl to flash you any of the aforementioned green-light signals, perhaps you need to lower your standards. Below are a few sure-fire situations where a woman is almost guaranteed to have sex with you:

She’s 43 or older, divorced and it’s her birthday.

She gives you free video-booth tokens at the porno store.

She has the tell-tale DUI yellow license plates on her car (note that colors vary by state, do your homework).

Every time you order a rum and coke, she mouths the word, “coke,” and starts sniffling.

She has to keep closing one eye to see you clearly at the bar… and she only has one eye.

She has a nickname like Flash, Slick, Lucky, Fast n’ Easy or Ruby.

She weighs less than 80 pounds, has sores on her back and/or can’t stop coughing.

My buddy Keegan saw this handy road worker while passing through a road construction site in New Mexico. I'm sure that if MacGyver were of Hispanic descent and stuck on a road construction site with nothing but a hard hat, a pizza box and a knife (and the obligatory duct tape), he'd do the same thing if the sun was in his eyes.

I worked at a Baskin-Robbins store in Lancaster back in the late 80’s. The folks at Baskin-Robbins corporate thought that it would be interesting to have a contest to see which store could sell the most pre-pack quarts of ice cream and tied in monetary incentive to ensure that everyone was excited to participate. Our store manager Mike took the bait and set up an in-store contest with all the workers to see who could sell the most quarts.

At the time, I was working about 30-40 hours per week at the store. I would open at 9:00am and work until 5:00pm. I sold a shit load of quarts. Mike kept track of quart sales on a grid and updated it every few days. The entire staff went absolutely out of their way to suggest our customers purchase quarts instead of dipping. It was quite obnoxious.

It was easy to see on the chart that I was way in the lead on quart sales, but Mike had a final column which divided the number of quarts sold by the number of hours worked. When that percentage was factored in, I was in third place. I tried to argue that I worked the slow hours and that quantity should reign, but Mike would have none of that. So I redoubled my efforts and tried to outsell my hours.

In the end, I failed. One of the chicks who worked an average of five hours a week won. There was no prize for second place. Mike said to me, “Sorry, Doug. It’s all about percentages.”

But there was a caramel chocolate crunch lining to the cloud. Mike suggested that if our store won in the region, he would share the wealth. As Mike tallied up the numbers, he saw that we were way ahead in the region. Baskin-Robbins corporate was basing the winner on percentage increase in sales from the previous quarter. By Mike's math, our store was in the lead ahead of all the other stores due to the frenzied sales staff. There was no way we could lose.

Except that we did.

One other Baskin-Robbins store in the region had not sold any pre-packed quarts in the previous quarter. When they finally did sell a few quarts, the fine folks at Baskin-Robbins accounting set their calculators on fire trying to divide by zero. So instead they set the store’s previous quart sales at “1” and you can see that even if they only sold one other quart, their sales would have increased 100%. While our store's sales increased 65% over the quarter, the other store’s sales went up some ungodly percentage because they sold more than one quart. That store was awarded the win and our store was in a distant second place, but there was no prize for second place.

Sorry, Mike. It’s all about percentages.

{Author’s note: Damn right I made up most those numbers. I can’t remember those kind of details from that long ago. The numerical intent is solid. We did get fucked and I did have the most quart sales.}

COLUMBUS, OH (HJ) – If you have ever had to issue or deliver a subpoena, you know what a hassle and expense it can be. In Columbus, OH, subpoena issuing by the County Sheriff’s department took up as much as 8% of officers’ time. With recent budget crackdowns, the county is looking into new ways to save money. One of those ways is to digitally serve subpoenas via the online social media site, Twitter.

Current county laws do not allow subpoenas to be e-mailed to a private computer. Subpoenas must be issued in a public forum. Because Twitter is a public entity, issuing subpoenas is legal and only takes a few minutes as opposed to days or sometimes weeks.

Franklin County began the process by digitizing the notary service. A digital notary can digitally affix their certificate to attest the execution of the document, as long as the constituent provides an on-line photo and bio to prove who they are. Currently, only Facebook.com and MySpace.com are being accepted as legal forms of on-line identity.

With the notary public’s digital stamp and full documents kept digitally in an online accessible database, the constituent can then have a third party, who has a Twitter account, issue the papers, online, in a public forum. The third party needs to ensure that the person to be subpoenaed has at least one follower. The “tweet” must include some legal jargon, the appearance date, the notary’s digital stamp or Twitter user name, and a link to the on-line documents.

Franklin County expects to save over $45,000 in 2009. The county has not yet created a clever way to put the words subpoena and Twitter together.

You have several problems, the first one being that you are using Twitter. Obviously you are well aware of that problem and seem to be at terms with it, so we will not discuss that issue.

Let’s look at the most obvious issue: your username. @chickoktc, broken down, obviously means "chic" (French for toast) "OK" (Oklahoma) and "TC" (the helicopter pilot from Magnum PI). I’m not sure if this is secret code for something very gay or if it is a desperate cry for attention. Either way, people on Twitter don’t like things that are confusing or require a lot of thinking. I would suggest a name change to something that most Twitter people can understand like @selfabsorbedegotist or @lookatmenownownow or @someonefamousjustcommentedonmycomment.

Another issue I see is your profile photo. By looking at your shirt, I can tell this photo is from the late 80’s, probably at Myrtle Beach. This is not working. Try taking a super close up photo of your eye. Make pouty lips, that one’s popular with the ladies. How about a photo of your cat? The last thing anyone wants to see is you in some normal pose that shows you exactly as you are. Make a statement and make it a false one. Or just post a photo of a hot chick in a bikini.

Here’s a biggie. Sometimes you speak in English, which is a lot more than can be said of many people on Twitter. But many other times, you start typing gibberish which looks to be some beaver language. Cut that shit out! Twitter is an English word so you should stick with English or one of the many variants.

You also use some very angry language. Take this tweet: RIP MJHow dare you! Michael Jackson is an icon and there is no need to rip the poor guy. Just let him rest in peace.

Wow. Looking at the people you follow… Abe Lincoln? The number 4? @THE_REAL_SHAQ? Come on, if he were real, why would he have to put “REAL” in front of his name? You’ve got to start following some actual real people like @homestarrunner@BillOReilly@HilaryClintonsSling. Try those for starters and see if maybe people will notice how cool you are and that you might be worth following. I do see you are following @holyjuan which is a start.

Or you could just do what everyone else does, which is to spam a ton of people and hope they follow you back seeing as they are pathetic people who have very few followers as well. Soon you’ll find yourself with 45,000 followers and a much, much better life.

So to sum up: change name, chick in a bikini, Magnum PI movie to be released in 2011, spam, and watch the beaver language.

I learned about HoleyBoard in college from my Canton friends. There is a lot to be said about HoleyBoard, but I don't have time for it now. Let's just say that the best wedding gift that Miss Sally and I received was a set of HoleyBoards.

I did have time to touch up the rules for HoleyBoard. These rules are different from the standard rules that my Cleveland friends play by. We think they are much more competitive.